


You Don’t Have To Be Betty Grable

by QueenoftheHobbits



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Dance Halls, F/M, overweight reader, plus size reader, post dunkirk probs about 1941 or 42
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 15:18:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14855243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheHobbits/pseuds/QueenoftheHobbits
Summary: You had rather bad luck with dates and dance halls, but this time turns out rather better than you expected.





	You Don’t Have To Be Betty Grable

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Because i’m a plump girl and with the limited reader inserts about Dunkirk plus the fact some heavily describe the reader as thin, this is a little bit of personal self indulgence. We’re not all small, lithe, petite and we should still get to enjoy reader inserts and a fandom if we’re not. Consider this a protest over the exclusionary writing in reader inserts, at least state at the start if you’re describing the reader a certain way. It can be rather off putting to be enjoying something and then suddenly feel excluded. 
> 
> Using Jack as Collins’ first name because it seems to be the fandoms choice since we don’t actually have his first name.
> 
> I haven’t tried to write out a Scottish accent because that can sometimes go badly and be quite hard to keep reading with, so just imagine it in your head or read his parts in a Scottish accent.
> 
> Also the junior service joke is an actual real life thing. My Dad’s ex RN and its a long running joke between the Army and the Navy that the RAF are the junior service.

You’re not Hollywood Starlet, no Greta Garbo or Joan Bennett. You’re not tall or lithe, not perfectly proportioned or flat stomached. You had long come to terms with that fact. You were plump as your mother would put it. Wide hips, a soft stomach that didn’t lie flat, large thighs, arms, soft round cheeks. You accepted that fact, it wasn’t uncommon, not really. You knew most women walking down the street were no Jean Arthur or Carole Lombard. But you also knew that most of women who got asked to dance halls or out to cafes were closer to Greta Garbo than yourself. But it was okay. You didn’t need to be leggy or thin to be in the nursing corps. You just needed to be good at your job and you were. 

You didn’t need to stun every man you treated, you just needed to make sure they were okay. So you did your best to ignore the sinking envy whenever you walked down the street to see women walking arm in arm with their sweethearts. Because you didn’t need that. You were okay without it. You had a job to do and a war was on. But just because you didn’t need something, didn’t mean you didn’t crave it, want it, and hope for it when you lied awake at night staring at the ceiling as your fellow nurses snored in the beds beside you. 

You meet a lot of men in your line of work, some that make unnecessary, nasty comments because they’re in pain, some that are silent, some that are nice, but very rarely a man who wants to take you out on the town. In some ways you’re glad because your work is your work and that would surely interfere with it. In other ways you wish that just once someone would turn up and sweep you off your feet because the other girls don’t understand. They ask why you haven’t a sweetheart yet and how do you explain that men just don’t seem to want to view you that way, that despite your outward confidence there’s a scared little girl inside of you. Who worries you’re too ugly, too fat, too this, too that. That you’ll always be alone while everyone else around you pairs off. You know deep down those are the insecurities of a little girl, that they’re irrational, that at some point you’ll meet the right person. But it seems like everyone else has  _so many_ right people and you don’t have single one. That for some there’s a new right person every week and for you there’s never a single one. It’s a little disheartening, a little lonely, and it feeds those old insecurities that comment in your ear when you get dressed in the morning and stand in front of a mirror. 

You don’t except that to suddenly change. 

“You’re coming to the dance hall tonight, right?” You look up from where you’re making beds for any future men who come in for a little medical help, to see Anne perched on a table along the wall. Anne was one of your closest friends. Beautiful, funny, a good nurse, and kind. She was always kind, especially to you. But, she had a habit of making you go to the dance hall with her and her sweetheart, Albert. 

“Anne...You know I always end up sitting there alone!” You don’t hate the dance hall because of the noise or the people or the dancing, you hate the dance hall because Anne always has Albert and you always end up sitting there watching everyone else dance. Because it’s never some romantic or happy occasion for you, it’s rather boring when you’re just sat there watching everyone else have fun. The few times she’d found a friend of Albert’s to come with, they’ve always gone off to dance with another girl. You’ve had some rather poor luck with it. 

“Not this time. Albert has a friend he’s bringing along. He’s in the RAF.” She says it like it’s supposed to impress you and it probably would if firstly you didn’t spend your day around men in uniform and secondly if you thought he might actually like you. Which you didn’t. Because they never had before. It was useless getting your hopes up. 

“Who’s to say he’ll even want to dance with me Anne...I’m no Betty Grable.”

“You don’t have to be! How many bloody times have we told you that just because you’re a bit plumper than the rest of us doesn’t mean you’re not pretty or that people won’t want to dance with you?” She was always so adamant that you were pretty, beautiful even, that you’d find someone you just needed a little time. Part of you believed her because surely she wouldn’t lie to you and because you knew that really being bigger than other girls didn’t inherently make you attractive or unattractive. But the little twelve year old in you that symbolised all your insecurities found it hard to believe her. It was a constant internal conflict.

“Anne...”

“Look, I know you’ve had some rotten luck. But trust me on this one.” She looked so sure that this would work out. That this time you’d have a good time. That this one would like you. Would dance with you, that you couldn’t exactly find it within yourself to say no. At least you’d get to dress up, listen to some nice music. There was always a bright side if this went poorly. 

“Fine.” You cut off her excited clapping, “But only because you seem so sure and I trust you. But...that doesn’t mean I believe this is actually going to be better than the last time” You look at her pointedly, the last time had been one of the worst; he hadn’t even said hello to you before he’d gone off to find another girl to dance with. Poor Albert had been dreadfully embarrassed. 

“I’m sure it will be better than...that time. He wasn’t worth your time anyway! So rude!” You huff a little laugh at that before returning to your corners. The beds have to be perfect or the Matron will have you redo them. It made little sense to you considering any man that slept in them or sat on them immediately messed up the hard work, but who were you to argue? 

Friday nights were dance hall nights, everyone would fill the nearest hall after work and once they were off duty and dance the night away to good music and pleasant company. Anne convinced you to come along without fail every Friday and every Friday night you usually found yourself sat at a table listening to the music and watching her and Albert dance. Occasionally Albert brought a friend, but they usually only spent a few minutes with you before deciding they preferred to dance with someone else. Some were ruder than others, some would stay and talk with you for a good hour even though they clearly would rather be dancing with the pretty blonde in the corner. Sometimes you just told them to go have fun. Sometimes you barely got an introduction before they left. You understood of course, sometimes the men weren’t your type and you didn’t want to dance with them either, everyone had their preferences. It just seemed like you weren’t really anyone's. 

You went through your usual routine after getting off duty. A quick bath, choosing a nice dress, finding the nice stockings you had (the ones that you’d tried to keep in good condition what with rationing on), picking a comfortable pair of heels, pinning your hair, doing your make-up. You always decided that if you were going to go out, you’d look nice for yourself. If no one wanted to dance with you at least you’d feel good. 

You always found that the walk with Anne was the nicest part of the night, the two of would joke and laugh as you made you way down the street. Usually commenting on Matron’s newest rule or how the General on base always seemed to smile at her particularly brightly. 

“I think she’s been going on dates with him, she seems particularly flustered lately by his affections”

“It’s strange to think of such a stern woman being flustered.” You pointed out as you neared the hall, the music leaking out into the street. 

“She’s only that way because she wants our work to be the best, you know she’s not as stoic as she pretends to be!” You knew that to be true, on more than one occasion you’d caught her smiling at a joke and quickly cover it up. Matron was a lady who wanted to be the best at her job, wanted you to all be the best nurses, but underneath that harsh exterior you all knew that she was soft as any of you. 

You both enter the hall and it was already filled with bodies, women in pretty dresses, men in suites and a good few in uniform. Some are dancing already to the band that’s playing and some are sat at a table. 

Albert is already at the table he always saved for your little group. Slightly off to the side, giving enough distance from the dance floor for those who want a break without being crowded. As Anne had already said he was sat next to a man in the blue uniform of the RAF. Brown hair, brown eyes, a rather bored expression on his face. He wasn’t unattractive, but he wasn’t spectacularly handsome either. 

“Hello, sweetheart”

“Hello, Albert” 

You speak at the same time, you smile at Albert and Anne is already clambering into the seat nearest him. You liked Albert, he was kind to you, a sort of brotherly figure. He always tried to make you comfortable and always felt bad for any failed ‘dates’. It was always someone he knew and every time it didn’t work out you knew he felt rather bad for it, like it was his fault. Which was absolute rubbish because he had no say in whether someone was interested in you or not.

“Hello, darling; Y/N, you look lovely tonight, Charles, doesn’t she look lovely tonight?” You can see Albert trying so hard to make this one work, but Charles looks over at you with a lack of interest and forces a smile. 

“Yes. Lovely.” You force your own smile and take a seat. Charles isn’t someone you’d necessarily go out of your way to impress, even more so when he seems completely disinterested and isn’t even being particularly nice to Albert. 

“So…you’re in the Royal Air Force?” 

“Yes.”

“I’m a nurse.” You’re trying, really hard to make this work because for once you’d like just one dance, even if it was a friendly dance. But you can already see his eyes are more focused on the other girls around the room. 

“How have you been, Y/N?” Albert tries to strike up a conversation with you and you’re thankful because this is incredibly uncomfortable for you. Albert is a handsome man, bright red hair, that Anne always says reminds her of bonfires on the 5th of November (rather cliché, but sweet), and bright happy eyes. The lines on his face aren’t from age but from smiling and laughing so much. He’s so incredibly lovely to Anne that you enjoy his company yourself. He’s a brotherly figure and you’re ever so glad to know him, he’s rather helpful when you’re having issues. 

“Wonderful, we haven’t had too many troublesome men come in for attention yet, not too much screaming or complaining lately and Matron’s been downright sweet!” 

“Since she went on that date with the General!” Anne chimed in and you could still see her excitement over the relationship she believed Matron was getting herself into. She grabbed Albert’s hand in her excitement. Charles seemed utterly bored with the conversation, but you found you didn’t care for the man at all. Let him be miserable if he wanted to be. 

“Since  _we think_ she went on that date. We don’t know, Anne.” 

“Well, at least she’s finally lightened up, eh?” 

“Too right! She didn’t even criticise my corners before we left!” She had simply praised you and thanked you for making the beds, it had been a rather surreal experience. 

The three of you fall into comfortable conversation, Charles simply staring at other women around the room. He’s a rather dull fellow and his apparent negativity is rather irritating, after all if he didn’t want to stay around you lot he could simply leave.

“Davis? That you?” You hear a distinct Scottish brogue over the clamour of the music calling Albert’s surname and turn with the others to look at who had called out. 

The man in question is tall and dressed in the familiar blue of the Royal Air Force much like Charles, but he wears it much better. It seems to fit his frame better, rather than hanging loosely like Charles’. He is handsome, that is obvious from the first glance at his face, neat blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a cheeky smile. It has your heart beating just a tad faster than before. 

“Oi, Collins! Good to see you!” Albert stands from the table to pull ‘Collins’ into a brief hug, they seem incredibly familiar, more familiar with each other than Charles and Albert. You wonder if Albert is even friends with Charles or if they simply ran into each other a few times. 

“Look at you lucky bugger, two pretty girls?” You find yourself a little flustered at the compliment to both you and Anne, not least because his gaze seems to linger on you just a tad longer than normal. 

“This is my girlfriend, Anne, and her friend, Y/N,” You wave at Collins as you’re introduced, smiling sweetly. You think that he’s at the least the most talkative and entertaining of Albert’s friends. 

“Jack Collins, and who’s this? I haven’t seen you around base, mate?” He turns his attention to Charles who as he has been for the past half hour is bored looking and doesn’t seem particularly interested in the new comer. 

“Charles Newman, I’m one of the engineers.” Even the shake he gives Collins appears half-hearted. You wonder why he’s so...so dull and well, rather rude, but you suppose that perhaps it’s none of your business.

“Ah, aye, that would explain it.” 

“What do you do, Jack?” He’s obviously not one of the engineers if he doesn’t know Charles and they work and live on the same base. You also find you like listening to him speak and want to keep him talking. 

“I’m fighter pilot, Spitfires.” 

“That’s awfully dangerous.” You all know that the life expectancy for pilots is rather bad compared to some, the air is a dangerous place to be in this war and you worry a little. 

“A little, but, someone’s got to do it, and i’m not half bad if I do say so myself.” You can see a look in his eyes that tells you he’s seen just how dangerous it can be. You wonder what it’s been like for him, this war, his job.

“I don’t doubt that you’re an excellent pilot.” You can see Anne and Albert quietly leaving the table out of the corner of your eye, no doubt to finally go dance together. You find you don’t mind being left with Jack, although you’d rather have Charles leave as well. 

“So what do you do, Y/N?” He takes a seat across from you, with a charming smile and find yourself wanting to sigh like some lovesick little girl. 

“I’m a nurse, so is Anne.”

“Ah, so you’ll be tending my wounds if I fall from the sky then?”

“Well, I’d hope you’d stay in the air, but yes. If you needed a little bedside manner then i’d be there, or someone else I know.” You can’t guarantee after all that you would be his nurse. Although, it would be a reason to speak to him again. Although you’d prefer him to stay flying high, rather than plummeting to the earth.  

“I’ll make you a promise, for a dance, I’ll do me best to stay aloft and out of your medical building.” You haven’t been asked to dance in a long while and you don’t for a second think he’s doing it to be kind. For once you’re rather sure that he’s genuinely interested in you and you find yourself smiling broadly at him.

“A dance? I think I can manage that price.” You let him help you from your seat and leave Charles behind at the table on his own. You can’t find it in you to feel sorry for him, not when he’s been so dour. 

You’re led to the dance floor just as  _I’ll Be Seeing You_ begins to be sung. You wrap your arms around Jack’s neck and fluster a little as his arms wrap around your waist, to sway along with you. He’s so incredibly handsome, but even more so up close. His eyes seem to sparkle, crinkling at the corners with his smile. 

“Was Newman your date?”

“Albert brought him along...he does every other Friday, not Charles, but a ‘friend’ of his.” Always a ‘friend’, always someone for you to dance with and usually someone who doesn’t particularly want to dance with you. He’s rather bad at this. Especially if he could have introduced you to Jack all along. 

“Never worked out before?” You watch his brow furrow and find you much prefer it when he’s smiling. 

“They’re never particularly interested...there’s usually someone else who’s caught their eye.” Your words are heavy and loaded, because you know why they’re never particularly interested and it’s been a rather horrible low blow every other week. 

“Why?” He gives you a curious look, like he doesn’t quite believe that every man you’ve been introduced to before him hasn’t been interested. 

“I suppose...I...”

“I won’t judge...why do you think they’ve not been interested?” You believe him, believe that he won’t judge you, that he’s simply confused and a little curious. Besides he’d already shown he was interested unlike the others. That earned him at least an answer. 

“Well, I’m no Betty Grable...I’m not thin or tall or...I’m just not the prettiest girl in the room to them. That doesn’t mean I don’t think I’m pretty, but...I don’t think that they think I am.” It’s hard to explain how it feels so disjointed the way you see yourself sometimes verses how other people seem to see you or at least how men seem to see you. 

“You don’t need to be Betty Grable...you don’t need to be tall or thin or...” His grip tightens around your wide waist and he looks down for a moment, before looking up again, a rather out of place redness to his cheeks considering his previous confidence. “I think you’re beautiful and...And when I walked over and I saw you I was...I was blown away and I wouldn’t want you to change anything about yourself. You’re lovely. I’m sure you’d look lovely wearing in a potato sack.” 

You’ve never been told that before. Not by anyone but Anne, Albert and your family. You’re not sure it’s the same thing. To be told you’re wonderful as you are, that he thinks you’re beautiful. It makes your chest ache in a good way, and your mouth curl upwards without even thinking about it. You find you like Jack even more than you first thought. 

“You’re not so bad yourself...i’m sure you’d look spiffy in a potato sack, Jack.” You both laugh at the little rhyme and you let him pull you closer, leaning your cheek against his shoulder. 

He is kind. He is funny. He is handsome. He is warm. But, most importantly he makes you smile, makes your heart lift in your chest, makes your stomach buzz with the good sort of nerves that you haven’t felt since you were in school. He makes you want to smile until your cheeks hurt. 

“You really are bonnie, you know.” He whispers it in your ear and a shiver runs down your spine. Your curl closer to him without stopping your swaying. 

“Thank you...for being so lovely.”

“Thank you for letting me dance with you.” 

The two of you dance for most of the night, stopping now and then to get a glass of water and take a seat to let your feet rest. He is so incredibly funny that you’re sure you’ve annoyed a few people with your loud laughs, but you can’t seem to care. Not when you’re around him. 

“Do...could I walk you back?” The band is winding down and the hall has thinned of people and it really is time that you got back before Matron took a chunk out of you.

“I’d like that.” You grab your coat from where you’d left it and wave goodbye to Albert and Anne who appear to want to stay a little longer.

Jack holds his arm out to you and you happily wrap your arm through his. It’s not a long walk back to the base that you live and work on, its Army and you know the guys on duty at the front will probably make some comment about Jack being in the ‘junior service’. After all the RAF was only just over 20 years old compared to the much longer run of the Royal Navy and the British Army. 

“It’s been a really nice night, Jack. Thank you for dancing with me.” You hadn’t had such a nice Friday night in a long while, and his appearance practically saved you from dealing with Charles all night. It was a relief to finally be around someone who genuinely wanted to be there.

“Thank you for giving me the light of day.” 

The walk is nice and peaceful and you wonder if Jack will want to see you again after tonight. You certainly want to see him again. He makes you feel comfortable, happy, like you don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not.

“Nurse Y/L/N” You’re greeted by the two at the front gate, most of the men know who you are by now, most of them have come in for at least something little. Whether a splinter or a stomach bug. 

“Boys.”

“Looks like you found yourself a member of the junior service, eh?”

“Boys.” The stern tone to your voice tells them to back off somewhat, even though you’re sure Collins finds it amusing rather than insulting. As is the nature of the military. You turn to him, removing your grip on your arm. 

“Well, I suppose this is goodnight.”

“I suppose it is.” The two of you stare at each other for a few moments, before he speaks again. “Would you like to go out sometime? Maybe next week? I can come wait for you out here...?”

“I’d like that, maybe Friday again? 7 o’clock?”

“It’s a date.”  You smile at him, trying to ignore the two men watching your exchange, before reaching up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Jack.”

“Goodnight, love.” 

You force yourself to turn and walk through the entryway to the base, you try your hardest not to look back, but you do anyway only to see him standing there smiling at you. You return the smile. 

You’re rather glad you agreed to go to the dance hall that night. 


End file.
